


Chaos is a Ladder

by DarkLordJordan



Category: Hitman (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Era, Canon Related, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Explicit Language, Headcanon, Implied Sexual Content, Long, Multi, Pre-Canon, Self-Insert, Slow Build, Slow To Update, and that's me, no betas we die like men, some things are canon, somethings are really not canon at all, there is one god in this universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-01-04 10:28:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21196172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkLordJordan/pseuds/DarkLordJordan
Summary: An amalgamation of my headcanons in parallel to the plot of No Subtitle.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I've never posted anything here before so I'm a bit overwhelmed with the tagging system ^^;
> 
> That said, I hope you enjoy! This is largely based off of Hitman No Subtitle and Hitman 2 No subtitle but there will probably be some references to Blood Money as well
> 
> I also wanna preface this by saying that my policy towards canon is the same as my policy towards supreme pizza: If I don't like it I pick it off and throw it away XD So just... be ready for some totally-not-canon-at-all things XD

## Soders

Erich Soders II was feeling very proud of himself. He’d been climbing the ICA’s ranks in record time, and he was just informed that he would be receiving yet another promotion. The downside, of course, is that it meant he’d have to meet with his father for the briefing.

Soders II did not get along with Soders I. As a matter of fact, he was determined _not_ to get along with his father from the day they met. It wasn’t difficult. After all, he _did_ show up out of the blue, prove his relation, and then demand both his name and rights to his lineage, with a side order of blackmail to make sure the old man didn’t get any ideas. Soders II was rather proud of himself for that. Of course, he’d need to bump his father off eventually to seal the deal, but he knew more than a few ways to kill an old man. Just a matter of waiting for the right opportunity.

He sauntered into his father’s office with his hands in the pockets of his suit, grinning like a fox eating shit off an electric fence. “Father,” he smirked, “How good to see you again.”

His father was not amused. “You. I’m sure they’ve told you why you’re here.”

“Ah, yes, something in the lines of a promotion? They seem rather impressed with me don’t they?”

“You’re being made the section head of Section A.” The older agent ignored the jab and passed his son a set of folders. “These are the agents you will be in charge of.” Soders II took a look at the stack of folders in front of him and couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Agent 47 and Diana Burnwood?” he gasped. His thrill immediately turned into suspicion. “You don’t like me enough for that; what’s the catch?” His father grinned, like a fox eating shit off an electric fence.

“Take a look at the next one.” The next file was labeled “Agent 49/Jane Douglas.” Soders II had never heard of that pair. He flipped the folder open and then immediately closed his eyes, stunned.

“Why...?” he muttered, instantly exhausted beyond measure. “Why is he dressed like a clown?” His father’s grin widened.

“Good luck.”

***

“Hello everyone,” Soders II greeted the three handlers as they were milling about the Section A office. He recognized Diana Burnwood immediately; she was leaning nonchalantly on the water cooler. “My name is Erich Soders II. You will never need to refer to my father in my presence so please. Just. Call. Me. Soders. I am your new section head -”

“Oh did that other bastard quit?” a blond person piped up in the middle of the room, sitting at a desk. “Is it because I called him a cunt? I’m not sorry.” They were absolutely not sorry. In fact, it seemed that the memory of the incident had brought a smile to their face. Soders looked into his files. They were Jordan River; they joined the ICA at age 18 and have a reputation for vulgarity, a lust for violence, and a strange obsession with... toilet drownings, of all things. Average scores, low collateral damage. There was a special note about their agent, 23 - apparently he has extreme difficulty making decisions and acting of his own accord.

“You must be Jordan,” Soders told them. “You seem to be the brains of your operation. Unfortunately. Your scores aren’t terrible, but they aren’t great either; I suggest hitting the training exercises a bit more often.” They just muttered something under their breath; probably more obscenities.

“I didn’t know Erich Soders had a son,” Diana remarked. She seemed amused by the idea.

“Neither did he,” Soders answered, “And I told you not to mention him in my presence.”

“Interesting.”

“Nevertheless, it’s an absolute pleasure to be working with you, Ms. Burnwood. I trust you’ll keep up the good work.” She nodded with a keen smile. Soders opened the last file in his possession. Agent 49, pictured in a clown costume wielding a shuriken, was infamous for extreme violence, a love of explosions, and extremely high amounts of non-target kills. The only notes available for Jane was her ability to be flexible while on a mission, and that she was the only person who could handle 49’s extreme personality.

“Now, Ms. Douglas....” He looked around until he spotted the woman with long black hair sitting at a computer. “I’m sure you don’t need to be informed about your agent’s performance. Obviously I would appreciate it if we made an effort to keep the collateral to a minimum.”

“Sure thing, boss,” she answered, nervous at being mentioned. “I’m doing my best to keep him in line, it’s just....”

“I mean I don’t blame her; it’s a miracle she can control him at all,” Diana piped up. “Considering the... incident, in Bangkok.”

“Oh yeah, the Bangkok Clown Massacre!” Jordan piped up with a laugh. “Who could forget. How many did he kill that time, 14?”

“Jordan, we said we weren’t going to mention that anymore,” Jane answered, embarrassed.

“It was funny though....”

“Alright, how’s this?” Soders interrupted. “We try to keep the kill count below ten. And I will personally let 49 know that the cleanup costs are going to come out of his paycheck from now on.” Jane nodded. “Right. Now. This section has been riding on 47’s successes for too long. Work on getting those scores up. I have a lot of paperwork to do and a bottle of bourbon in the office that isn’t going to drink itself. Get to it!” Soders was starting to feel a migraine coming on. This was turning out to be his most difficult assignment yet.

## 47 and Diana

47 stood behind cover outside of his target’s kitchen, waiting patiently. He’d knocked out the cook while she was out for a smoke, knowing the target would become impatient and use the stove himself. The assassin had loosened the gas valve just enough. The trap was set.

“Goddamn it, I have to do everything myself...” the target grumbled in the other room. Terrible last words. The stove exploded.

“Excellent work, 47,” Diana told him in his earpiece. “As always. Head to extraction; the money’s being wired to your account.” Business as usual.

After heading back to ICA headquarters for debriefing (a flawless rating, as usual) he went to one of his private safehouses and drew a bath. He couldn’t sense another person for miles, so he closed his eyes and sank down into the water. In this line of work, feeling safe was a luxury. A hot bath was the closest thing to comfort he’d ever known.

The unfortunate side effect of relaxing was he started to feel things. Feeling things was not something he was used to. He wasn’t used to the feeling of being alone in a tub of hot water, without a single person for miles. He didn’t like it.

“Diana,” he said, turning his earpiece back on. “I don’t know if you’re listening right now, but I hope you aren’t, because it’s embarrassing.” He took a deep breath. It was good to feel like he was talking to someone. “Diana.... I’m lonely,” he sighed. “I’ve been... musing, I suppose... about taking a lover. I’ve never... done _it_ before but, I think I’d be good at it. I’m good at everything, even things I’ve never tried.” He paused. Could he hear Diana’s breathing on the other end, or was it just his imagination?

“What sort of person would be my lover, do you think?” he continued. “Someone strong to hold me at night? Or someone soft to comfort me?” He stopped again. “I don’t think I have a preference, really. I’m just tired of being... isolated... like this.” He took a deep breath and leaned back, letting the air back out slowly.

“Part of me hopes that you _are_ listening, Diana.”

***

Diana wasn’t sure about this. Not even a little. Her higher-ups didn’t exactly approve of this sort of thing. It’s dangerous. It could cause... problems, not to mention office drama. Still... she couldn’t ignore what she’d overheard. Part of a handler’s job is to take care of their agent. She took a deep breath and turned on her earpiece.

“47?”

“Yes, Diana?”

“I’m sending you a location. We need to meet.”

***

47 wasn’t sure what to expect; Diana had never been anything more than a voice in his ear. The specified location was a small, remote hotel, discreetly tucked away and out of sight. He couldn’t imagine what would require them to meet in person. She sounded different when she’d told him. Nervous. It wasn’t like her.

He checked in under the usual pseudonym and headed to the room to wait. Meeting in person was dangerous. He couldn’t help but fidget a bit in his seat. He sensed a woman approaching the room. She unlocked the door with a key.

“47?” she said. He recognized her voice instantly. “It’s me.” She approached him slowly, cautious. Her anxiety was setting him on edge.

“What’s this about?” he asked. She opened her mouth like she was about to answer, but instead she did something unexpected. She leaned forward and hugged him tightly.

All of his instincts flared to life at once, every fiber of his body screaming to subdue her, kill her, remove the threat - but he couldn’t let himself hurt his handler. Not the only person he’d ever trusted. He was paralyzed.

She released him and looked up with tears in her eyes. “I heard you,” she said quietly. “The other night, when you were talking to yourself. I didn’t mean to but I... I did. I couldn’t let you be lonely anymore.” 47 felt heat rising in his cheeks, an unfamiliar sensation. Almost as unfamiliar as being touched. She moved away a bit more. “You’re very tense; are you alright?”

“I....” His thoughts were becoming clearer now that she’d moved away. “I’m trying... I don’t want to hurt you. I’m afraid I would without thinking.” She nodded.

“I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have startled you.” She glanced away, blushing. “I just.... I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s ok,” 47 answered, taking a deep breath and forcing himself to relax somewhat. Gently, he placed a hand on her chin and tilted her head to look at him. “I don’t think anything needs to be said.”

Their eyes met and they understood each other. They kissed. They made love. It was perfect, 47 thought; someone strong to hold him at night, someone soft to comfort him. He couldn’t imagine being in bed with anyone else.

***

“We’ve stayed too long,” Diana mumbled when they woke up.

“I hate to admit it, but you’re right,” 47 agreed. “We... we can do this again sometime, can’t we?”

“We shouldn’t make a habit of it; if the Agency finds out they’ll -”

“They won’t,” he insisted. Diana still seemed worried, but she nodded.

“Just... call me. When you want to.”

“Of course.”

47 never knew what love was, outside of the dictionary’s definition. Still, this seemed pretty close.

## 49 and Jane

“Eeheehee, I’m already in combat!”

“What?!” Sure enough, when Jane looked up from the briefing, she saw 49 on the monitor, dodging bullets. He’d only been in the mission area for a few seconds. “I take my eyes off the prize for one second...”

“I knoooww.”

“Did you not stop to get frisked or something?”

“There’s no time to get frisked, Jane, these people aren’t going to murder themselves.”

“Right, well.... If you can knock out that security guard and take his outfit we might be able to claw this back.” 49 definitely wasn’t the most stealthy assassin there was, but this had to be the quickest he’d ever gotten into combat.

“Alright, I think I’m in the clear.”

“Ok, now let’s find our targets....” Jane looked into the briefing again, trying to locate the targets on her map. “Who are these guys anyways....”

“If you’d read the briefing, you’d know,” Soders remarked from behind her.

“I read the briefing,” she lied without looking up.

“When did you read the briefing, Jane?”

“B... Before just now, obviously,” she chuckled nervously. “Oh, there they are. They’re on the other side of the map; we don’t even need to be here!” she told 49 over the headset. It was going to be a long mission.

***

While barracks are provided for use by ICA agents, for the most part they can come and go as they please. Of course, when you kill an average of 12 people every time you leave for a mission, you lose privileges. Agent 49 has been on probation for nearly his entire career, and therefore he is required to stay in the Section A barracks whenever he’s not in the field.

The Section A barrack was a lot like a three-bedroom apartment, and since 23 lived with Jordan and 47 preferred staying at his own properties, 49 largely had the entire place to himself. It was secure, and he enjoyed the privacy, so the place felt quite a bit like home. Or at least, the only thing even close to a home he’d ever experienced.

When 49 went into the barracks after the day’s mission was over, 47 was waiting for him. It wasn’t that surprising, he did visit from time to time to make sure 49 didn’t get bored. Bad things happen when 49 gets bored.

“I heard you were out on a mission today,” 47 greeted 49 from the couch. “How'd it go?”

“It was good,” 49 answered, taking off his clown wig and hanging it on a peg by the door. “I drowned a couple people in an aquarium, I dodged a frisk and got into combat -” He was interrupted by a fit of hacking. He leaned over and balanced against the wall and coughed up a few bullets into his hand. “Right. I got a _bit_ shot.”

One of the benefits of being a genetically modified super soldier was the ability to have bullets either pop out of your body if they weren’t too deep, or moved to the digestive tract to be coughed up later, and 49 had been coughing up bullets ever since he could remember. As a matter of fact, the first thing he could remember was an ICA agent asking who he was, and only barely being able to answer “49” before coughing up bullet after bullet after bullet. He didn’t so much like being shot, but it was the price he was willing to pay to not have to waste time sneaking around when he could just axe the target in the face or blow them up with a rubber duck.

“So what have you been up to?” 49 asked 47, who wasn’t at all alarmed at the fact that 49 had to cough up a few bullets before being able to speak again.

“Nothing really. The usual business. I checked in to a hotel to kill a warlord, but it wasn’t that interesting.”

“Wait, you checked in to a hotel?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t you like, need an actual name for that kind of thing?”

“Diana gave me a name.”

“She gave you a name?” 49 grinned devilishly. “You know what that means, right?” 47 sighed and covered his face.

“What does it mean, 49?”

“It means you’re her _pet.”_ It was obvious that 47 was irritated, but it wasn’t as strong of a reaction as 49 had hoped.

“You know,” he replied, “if you want to pick a fight, you can just say ‘Hey 47, let’s have a fight.’ You don’t need to piss me off first.”

“But it’s more fun when you’re pissed off,” 49 answered, still grinning like a madman. 47 wasn’t amused. “Well, I guess you’re right. I’ll leave your _girlfriend_ out of this.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Aw, are you embarrassed 47? Don’t want people to know you have a _girlfriend?_ Maybe I should call up Jane and tell her how _in love_ you are, you big softy.”

That did it. 47 swung for 49’s head. 49 blocked it and punched 47 in the stomach. They boxed and wrestled for a bit, neither having any intention of actually hurting the other. There wasn’t anything 49 loved more than a friendly brawl. Except, possibly, explosions.

## 23 and Jordan

“Oh God... Ok, ok new plan: Grab that letter opener. Turn off the computer _again._ And then... wang it into her head when she comes back,” Jordan shouted into their earpiece. This training simulation was harder than they thought it would be; the pair spent ages just trying to find their way around the map. “Yes! Good! Ok, they absolutely saw that but like, they don’t know it was you. Just... just walk away, just walk away like nothing’s wrong. Oh God, the alarms are going.... It’s fine, we’re fine, just run man, we’re almost done.” He made it to the exit, and they sighed, exhausted. That was not a good run. Still, practice makes perfect. “You did good, 23. I’ll see you at home.” They turned off their earpiece and leaned back into their chair. Even training missions were tense. The thought of something going wrong was unbearable.

“Hey Soders!!” they yelled, “Am I fuckin done yet?? Can I go home now???”

“You don’t need to yell; I’m right here,” he answered from behind them. “Three stars - No one saw you but they absolutely found bodies, and you forgot about the recordings again.” He handed them the debriefing file, which they promptly tossed in the trash without even reading it. “And yes, you’ve met your training quota today.”

“Fucking finally...” they moaned, stretching and popping their neck. “That was brutal.” They picked up their jacket and headed down out of the offices to meet 23.

***

Ordinarily, agents and handlers were only allowed to meet each other in extreme circumstances. A meeting could put them in danger, an eavesdropper could compromise important ICA information, and the fear of handlers utilizing their rank and authority to manipulate their agents was a cause for concern, according to the board.

Jordan and 23 were the exception to the rule. They lived together.

23 was nearly incapable of making his own decisions. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t know what to do, or what he needed to accomplish - rather, he couldn’t quite connect the dots between the problem and the solution. For example, he knew what it meant when he felt hungry, and he knew how to cook food, it just never connects in his mind that he _should_ cook _because_ he’s hungry. Due to this unfortunate condition, without someone to constantly remind him that he should make something to eat when he’s hungry, he’d surely starve and die.

This convinced the board to allow the pair’s somewhat unconventional living arrangement. They shared a small apartment in the city as roommates, and Jordan took on the task of making sure 23’s needs were met. After all, part of a handler’s job was to take care of their agent. In addition, taking care of 23 also reminded Jordan that they had to take care of themself.

***

Jordan met their agent at the parking garage; the same place they’d always met at the end of the day, ever since the first time they’d met nearly five years prior. Jordan was exhausted.

“Hello,” 23 whispered with a small wave. He never spoke loudly. He always seemed nervous, probably due to being in a constant state of not knowing what to do.

“Hello,” Jordan groaned back. “I’m so tired. I think I just wanna get hammered and go to bed. You should drive today.”

“Ok.” He climbed into the driver’s seat and Jordan got in next to him.

“Are you doing ok?” they asked. “Soder’s is being a real dick about this training thing. I know it’s stressing _me_ out.”

“I’m fine,” he answered, barely audible over the hum of the motor.

Silence.

“You know,” they said sincerely, “Talking to you is like talking to a brick wall. I seriously love that about you, never change.”

***

23 picked Jordan up at the bar. Literally. They’d had quite a bit to drink and it was time to go home, so he scooped them up in his arms like they were a toddler.

“Oh, put me down you big...” they muttered drunkenly. “Just one more.”

“You told me to always make you go home when you’ve had too much.”

“I haven’t had too much, I’m fine!”

“You also told me not to listen to anything you say while you’re drunk.”

“Damn... fucking... goddamn Sober Me, ruining my fun....”

They’d driven about halfway home in silence, apart from Jordan’s drunken muttering. That is, until 23 decided to speak of his own accord.

“Jordan?” he said, “Can I trust you?”

“Well yeah, of course,” they replied loudly, giggling a bit. “I’m you’re handler, I’m s’posed to take care of you. An’ we live together.”

Silence. They arrived at their apartment.

23 helped Jordan walk to their room and lie down. It was nice, he thought, to be useful to someone.

“Can you stay?” they murmured as they wiggled under the covers. “I don’t want to sleep alone. You don’t have to, just... if you want to.”

He did want to. He trusted them. They fell asleep together. It was nice, he thought, to have someone to care for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This is going to be a long one, I've got a lot of writing ahead of me ^^;I hope to continue this soon but no promises XD


	2. Indiscretions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait; it's a bit shorter than I'd hoped but at least I've finished it
> 
> grammar isn't real

47 and Diana’s rendezvous were beginning to become more frequent. At first they were trying to be careful, only meeting every few months, but, as with most things, the absence of consequences led to riskier actions. They were meeting nearly every week now, and staying together for longer. It had even gotten to the point where they weren’t afraid of being seen together in public restaurants and clubs.

They were meeting at a hotel, getting comfortable and sharing a bottle of wine. 47 was lounging in a chair, in his boxers, and Diana was relaxing on the bed wearing her bra and silk pajama pants.

“We’ve been meeting too often, haven’t we?” she remarked, absently sipping at her glass.

“Perhaps. Do you think it’ll be a problem?” he answered calmly, sitting his glass on the side table next to the bottle.

“It might be,” she mused. “If the Agency finds out we’re... involved, they’ll separate us for sure. Or worse.”

“If the Agency finds out,” he told her, rising from the chair and approaching the bed with the faintest of smiles, “we make them disappear.” He climbed in bed on all fours, crawling on top of her. Diana smiled at him. They kissed softly.

“So what’ll it be tonight, Mr. Rieper?” Diana murmured into his ear, a thirsty look in her eyes.

Suddenly, 47 tensed. He seemed distracted. “What’s wrong?” she asked. He didn’t respond. He got quietly climbed down from the bed and snuck over to the door, waiting.

**BAM!** 47 abruptly stood and slammed the door open, revealing a very terrified man who quickly stumbled out of sight. 47 didn’t go after him, although it looked like he wanted to.

“Who was that?!” Diana asked, stunned.

“I don’t know. I didn’t get a good look at him.” He took a deep breath, shut the door, and seemed to calm down a bit. “Probably just some... pervert.” He returned to Diana and held her tightly, still eyeing the doorway.

“I hope so.”

***

47 entered the Section A barracks and sighed. As good as it was to see Diana again, the incident with the eavesdropper didn’t sit right with him. He didn’t want to worry Diana, which meant that 49 was the only person he could talk to. Unfortunately. He hung his jacket on the hook beside the door.

“Hey 47, what’s up?” Sure enough, 49’s voice came as he entered the living area from his bedroom. He was dressed as a clown. This was going to be rough.

“Hi, 49,” he sighed. Where to begin?

“Something wrong? Did you get shot again?”

“No, it’s not...” he muttered. _Best to just be out with it, I suppose. _“Diana and I have been... meeting. For... personal reasons.”

“Oh my God wait, are you actually shagging Diana?!”

“You were literally mocking me a few weeks ago for having a girlfriend.”

“I was _teasing,_ I didn’t think you’d actually.... I always thought you were too straight-edge to do something that’d get you in so much trouble. I’m proud.”

47 sighed. This conversation was a mistake. “Look, it’s been getting more frequent. I didn’t expect it to be a problem. But the other night someone caught us together in a hotel room; he was eavesdropping through the door.”

“_And_ you got _caught?_ Who are you, where’s the _real_ 47?” he teased, grinning.

“49, this is serious.” 49’s grin faded into impatience, but he didn’t say anything. “I don’t think it was just a peeping tom. Something feels... wrong. Something about the way he escaped after I’d caught him. I think the Agency might be on to us. Or worse.”

“Wait, he got away? Why didn’t you kill him?”

“Well I couldn’t exactly go running down the hall after him in my underwear. Also, unlike you, _I don’t kill for free.”_ 47 sighed. “The point is, I think Diana and I might be in trouble. I’m going to wait and see where this goes, but I don’t like it.” 49 approached him with an unusually serious expression:

“Whatever happens, I’m here for you, buddy.” 47 let out the faintest of smiles.

“I appreciate that.”

“Also,” 49 replied, the teasing grin returning to his face, _“you’re her pet.”_

***

“Jane, can I talk to you for a moment?” Diana asked, as they were lounging by the water cooler. They’d both gotten to work a bit early and were enjoying the downtime.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“47 and I... have been having... personal rendezvous....”

“Diana! You’re having an affair?” Jane asked, bewildered. Diana nodded. “I mean, I suppose it’s alright, I’ve always kind of suspected.... I mean, as long as you don’t get caught; you could get in real trouble for this.”

“That’s the thing I’m afraid of, someone caught us together in a hotel room. It could’ve just been... you know, an eavesdropper, but.... This line of work, you can never be too careful.”

Jane nodded. “Still, I must insist you keep out of trouble. Me, Jordan, and 49 are the only ones in Section A who are allowed to do that,” she teased.

Diana smiled. At the very least, she knew the other handlers would back her up if something happened.

***

47 was alone again. He lay in the bathtub in his safehouse, fighting the urge to call Diana. It was interesting, he thought, how the more he indulged that impulse, the harder it became to ignore. It wasn’t like him to be so impatient, or so careless.

They’d been getting cocky, acting without thinking. Diana always waited for him and he knew that. It was embarrassing to think he’d lost that much self-control. He had to be more responsible. This relationship could put them in danger. More importantly, it could put _her_ in danger. The incident with the eavesdropper made that clear.

So, he sunk down in the hot water and closed his eyes, trying to satisfy himself with his imagination. Her body was so different from his own; she was so soft and small by comparison. He thought about her lips, and the way her eyes glinted when she knew she was misbehaving. The way her hands would trace his cheekbones and wrists. It was interesting, he thought, how a sensation which started out so foriegn to him became something he couldn’t live without. As far as he could remember, she was the only person who’d ever touched him gently.

Thinking about how she’d touch him made his face burn, another unfamiliar sensation. Everything came naturally to 47, he was unfamiliar with the concept of learning, but she was so curious, touching and teasing and experimenting. It was fascinating to watch, enthralling to participate in. Whether she was dominating, or goading him to dominate her, it didn’t matter. He was with her, and that was enough.

And yet, it was never enough. He could spend the rest of his life in bed with her, drowning in her lips and her hands and her hair. Every time it became harder to leave, harder to wait. It was startling to realize that this impatient feeling was the same feeling that’d cause 49 to go on a shooting spree. It was shameful to think he’d lost control over himself so easily. It wasn’t like him to get so carried away. It wasn’t like him to feel things. He’d tried not to think about it, but his thoughts always crept up on him here, in private.

He turned them back to Diana. He remembered their first night together, when they’d laid down to rest and his hand brushed against her hair for the first time. Hair was also foriegn to 47 (he’d never had any) but Diana’s was so long and soft, he knew he could’ve amused himself for hours just twisting it around his fingers, feeling it run through the palm of his hand like silk. Even the hair on her body enthralled him, the soft little hairs on her arms and her shoulders and her legs - another reason to crave the feeling of her body against his. And yet, somehow, there was something he felt beyond the sexual attraction, something beyond even his respect for her as a partner in his profession.

She was the only person who could look him in the face. Most people avoided his gaze entirely or tried not to make direct eye contact - even 49 couldn’t meet his face most of the time. People found his eyes unnerving at best, and absolutely terrifying at worst, but not Diana. She couldn’t seem to get enough; she’d stare at him in awe for ages, her own eyes flickering back and forth as she studied him.

He still didn’t know what love was, but he knew he couldn’t live without her.

***

_“Diana.... I’m lonely.”_ The words that started it all. The words she now craved to hear more than anything. She remembered that night, when those words stopped her from turning her earpiece off to give 47 his privacy. Those words changed her life.

She’d always fancied him; ever since she’d first laid eyes on her assigned agent. He was tall, muscular, handsome - anyone would’ve, or so she’d imagined. Of course, she wasn’t expecting him to change disguise. That flash of skin, that little glimpse of his body, was all it took to keep her up at night.

Over time she found her attraction to him deepen. She caught herself studying the way he moved, the way he held himself. Confident, intelligent, cold, calculating. She loved to watch him work; smooth, infinitely patient, he knew exactly when to wait and when to act. He moved like a machine, like the very incarnation of death. She wanted to feel his strength, to be at his mercy, to provoke the beast inside him. She knew that she was doomed to watch and never to touch, but oh, how she longed to meet that man.

When she finally had the chance, he was breathtaking. His body was even more beautiful in person - carved like a statue, power and elegance balanced in one figure. Even looking beyond that, she never imagined how lost she’d be in his eyes. She could study his face forever; every line and curve, every subtle change in his expression; she wanted to memorize it all. He’d seemed so stoic before, but now she could see how his icy blue eyes would soften ever so slightly when he looked at her, or how the corner of his lips would curl into the faintest of smiles when he’d said something clever, or how his brow furrowed when he focused. She could watch him for hours, fascinated.

Part of her wished she could go back to before she’d met him, back to that innocent longing she felt. Now she’d tasted the forbidden fruit and she knew what she was missing. Her yearning was no longer bound by vague dreams and imaginings; she had met him, touched him, experienced his strength and stamina firsthand, and now, having overindulged in her pleasure, she was forced to go without him. It was maddening.

But still, she had to be responsible. She knew she technically outranked him. She knew the Board had very good reason to forbid that sort of meeting between a handler and an agent. She knew she had the ability to manipulate him, even if she chose not to use it. And so, she’d always wait for him to come to her, with those words: Diana, I’m lonely. His special way of telling her he wanted to be with her. She knew she shouldn’t imagine that these feelings were mutual; he was as cold as stone, born and raised a lethal, heartless weapon. Surely he’d never experience such trivial emotions. Still... she remembered their first night together. He touched her as if she was made from tissue paper. He stroked her hair until they both fell asleep, twirling and twisting it around his fingers. Surely that wasn’t just her imagination.

To be honest, it didn’t matter. Even if he felt nothing for her, even if he was just satisfying himself, even if there would never be anything more between them, it was enough. It was enough just to be close to him, to feel his touch, to kiss him and embrace him and love him, even if he could never love her back. She would suffer through anything to have even a small part in his life.

He was everything to her. She couldn’t live without him.

***

Jordan was not looking forward to going to work today. They’d been drilling training simulations like no tomorrow for months and it was really starting to wear on them. They were certain 23 had noticed as well, but they didn’t want to worry him; he was anxious enough already. Besides, Soders was right. They needed to improve. 23 was holding up his end of the bargain; it was time for Jordan to step up. They had to do it for their partner’s sake, if nothing else.

Still, the stress and the fact they had overslept had put them in a sour mood. They stumbled into the office without saying hello and cracked open a can of Mountain Dew to try and revive themself. Once the caffeine began to kick in, they noticed that even though it was nine-thirty and the other handlers were in the office, Soders still hadn’t shown up.

“Hey is Soders hiding in his office?” they asked. “I thought he’d want to berate me for coming in late.”

“I haven’t seen him,” Diana answered. She seemed to have something else on her mind.

“Hopefully he quit,” Jane replied. “I’ve only got a couple weeks to win the bet.”

You see, Section A changed managers so often that the handlers had started betting on how long each new one would last. Jordan had bet that Soders wouldn’t last longer than a month, Jane bet he’d last longer than a month but less than six months, and Diana bet he’d last longer than six months. Since Jordan had already lost, they were rooting for Jane to win, but time was starting to run out.

“Hopefully,” Jordan retorted. “He’s a total prick. If he lasts too much longer we might be stuck with him forever.” As soon as they finished speaking, Soders burst through the door. Speak of the devil. He seemed worried.

“Diana. My office. _Now,” _he insisted as he rushed into his office without even looking up. Diana seemed to pale as she stood and followed without a word.

“Why’s he talking to _Diana?_” Jordan whispered as the door closed. “What the hell did _she_ do?”

“I don’t kno- well... actually...” Jane replied quietly.

“What? If it’s gossip you have to tell me, that’s the rules.”

“Well... don’t tell her I told you this. But Diana and 47 are... having an _affair.”_

_ “What?!_ That’s wild dude, I can’t believe - Oh god. She could be in a lot of trouble. That’s no fun.”

“Yeah, I hope it’s not going to be a problem.”

***

“What’s this about?” Diana asked nervously. She’d never been called into the manager’s office before. Usually it was Jane getting in trouble because 49 committed another massacre. She had a sinking feeling she knew what this was about.

Instead of answering, Soders made a very exaggerated motion, pointing at his ear with wide eyes. It took a moment for her to understand, but she made a show of turning off her earpiece completely and taking it out. Soders took a quick look around the room before he continued.

“I’m not supposed to be telling you this, but the Board is onto you,” he said urgently. “I was late because they called me in for a meeting, told me to keep an eye on you.”

“I don’t know what you’re -”

“Look, they know about your affair with 47. Or, at least, they suspect it.” Diana swallowed. The eavesdropper. She should’ve known.

“I... I can explain....”

“Listen, Diana, I don’t care what happens in your personal life, seriously. But the board has _very strong opinions_ on inappropriate work relationships and if you don’t think my father is going to jump at the chance to get rid of you and make _me_ look bad then you don’t know him.” Diana nodded. “Look, you and 47 are the only thing keeping this section from _literally going to hell_ so I am begging you, genuinely _begging_ you, to be careful and _stay out of trouble_. Because I swear to God if they split you two up or move you out of the section or fire you or kill you I will lose my _goddamn mind_, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now for the love of God keep your head down. You’re the only person in this section that makes my job even almost bearable.”


	3. Patience

49 was trying to hold very still. He was trying to hold very still because he was currently being patted down by a security guard, and it would be a spectacularly bad idea to knock the guard unconscious. Still, his muscles were twitching in anticipation, and there was a screwdriver in his pocket that thirsted for souls.

“Hold, 49,” Jane’s voice whispered reassuringly in his ear. “You can do this.”

“It would be so easy...” he muttered back through gritted teeth.

“Come on, keep it together; you’re almost through.” 49 let out an agonized groan. Apparently he had to get better at this “stealth” thing, because Jane’s boss was being a real prick about the amount of murders he’d been committing. 49 found this moderately confusing, since he thought killing people was the thing he was _supposed_ to do.

“Alright, you’re good to go,” the guard finally said. 49 dropped his arms with a sigh and hurried on forward. He could sense that the target was just ahead, and it sent an excited tingle down his nerves. Showtime.

The target was having a drink on his own while his bodyguard left to go to the bathroom. Perfect. If he pulled this off, he’d have actually gone an entire mission without getting shot for once. 49 pulled the screwdriver out of his pocket, taking only a moment to steady his aim before flinging it into the target’s neck. The target let out a strangled cry before thumping to the ground.

“Yes!” 49 hissed quietly. “Did you see that? Super stealthy. No one saw that.”

“Alright, great work,” Jane affirmed over the earpiece. “Now just get out of there before -”

“Yeah, yeah, just let me get my screwdriver back.”

“Oh no, no no no wait -” he heard Jane shout as he was pulling the bloody murder weapon out of the corpse. When he straightened up, there was another man in the room looking very surprised. The guard had come back from his bathroom break. They stared at each other for a long, never-ending moment.

“I uh... I can explain.” 49 broke the silence. The bodyguard pulled out a pistol and shot him in the chest. 49 recoiled and cursed under his breath before throwing the screwdriver at the bodyguard, stabbing him right through the eye.

“What was that?!” came a voice from the next room over.

“Someone heard the gunshot, 49,” Jane told him.

“Yes, I am aware,” 49 hissed back. In came a maid wearing a very startled and horrified expression.

“What the hell -” she muttered for a moment before running off screaming for help. 49 took a moment to focus on his instincts and saw her talking to another guard, who drew a gun and was running this way.

“Well, here we are again,” he sighed, retrieving the screwdriver from the body guard’s skull.

“I mean, we can reel this back,” Jane replied calmly. “Just kill anyone who’s still coming for you and hide for a bit; they’ll calm down.”

“Yes, well,” 49 retorted, “that would be easier if _you_ hadn’t made me drop my pistol to get frisked.”

“You! Drop the thing in your hands!” The guard shouted as he ran in, cut off by the screwdriver embedding itself in his throat. Shots rang out from further down the hallway and 49 felt a familiar pain in his side.

“Oh damn it, there’s more of them,” he hissed.

“Just run, just go,” Jane told him.

“I’m trying!” 49 quickly dashed around a few corners into another hallway, and dived into a laundry cart just a moment before the guards turned the corner. He held his breath and waited.

“See? You’re fine, just wait for them to leave...” Jane offered after a while.

“Nope. They aren’t calming down. This is my life now. Just forward all my mail to this crate, Jane. I’m never getting out of here,” he whispered back.

***

“How are you doing?” Soders asked Jane, wandering over to the handler’s cubicle. He hadn’t heard anything terribly concerning coming from that corner of the office, but with 49 involved, it couldn’t hurt to check.

“What? Fine! Everything’s fine!” she answered, with a nervous chuckle, as though everything was, in fact, not fine. “He’s only killed three people, and one of them was the one he was _supposed_ to kill. He got shot a little, but he’s hiding in a crate so it’s _fine.”_

“If you say so,” Soders sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. “As long as it _stays that way.”_

“You got it, boss.”

***

“He got away,” one of the guards muttered, holstering his gun. 49 quietly gasped, hoping he hadn’t misheard. He’d been sitting in dirty laundry for at least 20 minutes and his screwdriver-throwing arm was getting itchy. “You can relax, but stay on your toes.” 49 sighed in relief.

“I think they’re clearing out now,” he whispered.

“See? What did I tell you. Now we just need to get to the extraction point.”

“Right. Gonna need to change clothes.”

“Yeah, you’re _really_ compromised right now. Maybe the bodyguard’s outfit? Might be a bit too bloody.”

“Oooh! The clown outfit isn’t compromised! Because you made me stop to get frisked!”

“That’s true! Alright, go ahead and make your way out _carefully.”_

“Will do.” He found his way back out of the manor as cautiously as he could muster, finding a way out down a drain pipe instead of going back down through the building. Now that he thought about it, he probably could’ve gone _up_ the drain pipe in the first place and gotten to keep his gun. Regardless, he found his way back to the staff lot where he’d choked out a male housekeeper who’d gone for a smoke and retrieved his gun and beloved clown outfit. The unconscious (and mostly naked) man was still tucked safely between the front of a truck and the curb, where 49 had left him.

“Job well done, yeah?” 49 mused to Jane with a smile.

“Yeah, just got to get out. There was a bus stop not too far from the entrance.”

“Sounds good.” He meandered his way towards the bus stop, trying his best to look casual despite the fact that he was dressed as a clown.

“Ooooh! Look, a clown!” he heard a kid shout while he was waiting for the bus. “I wanna play with the clown!”

“Not now, Jimmy,” the man with his said, holding the kid’s arm so that he wouldn’t run out in traffic or something.

“But _father!”_ the kid whined. 49 winced. Something about the word “father” made his bones click. He couldn’t remember why. Trying to remember why made his head hurt.

He got on the bus as soon as it arrived, following through the extraction process. He hated feeling like he was forgetting something.

***

47 was waiting in the Section A barracks for 49 to come back from his mission. He was waiting because, for better or for worse, 49 was the person he trusted most in the world besides Diana, and he couldn’t talk to Diana right now. Not after the message she’d sent him.

49 came in the door looking troubled. He hung his clown wig on a peg by the door without a word.

“49?”

“Oh!” 49 jumped a bit. “Hi 47.” He resumed his distracted demeanor.

“You look like you’re _thinking_ and that’s unusual for you.” 49 just nodded, not seeming to notice the jab. After a few moments he looked up at 47.

“You ever feel like you’re forgetting something?”

“Yes. Constantly. All the time.”

“Because just today, I was leaving a mission - and I’ll have you know I only killed three people this time - anyways, some kid was talking to his dad, and he said the word ‘father.’” 47 clenched his teeth. Something about that word rubbed him the wrong way. “And I hate that word,” 49 continued with a shudder. “It tastes bad and it makes me want to stab someone. And I can’t... remember why.” He stopped and held the side of his head, wincing. “And when you try it gives you a headache?”

“Yeah, exactly! You get that too?”

“Sometimes. I get this nagging feeling that there was something I forgot to do.”

“Oh, like you’ve left the oven on?”

“Yeah... something like that....” 47 paused, trying to think of more details. They didn’t come. It felt like something in his mind was stopping him, like pushing against a brick wall. His head started to hurt. He decided to go back to what he’d been thinking about before. “Anyways.... I’ve gotten this message from Diana.” He took out the burn phone to show 49 the text:

> We were right. The Board knows. We have to be careful.

49 took a moment to read it and then his eyes widened. “Wait - are you going to be in trouble with the agency? Like actually?”

“I don’t know. This is the most communication I’ve had with her in weeks.”

“Alright, let me be more specific: Do you need me to kill 27 people?” He was dead serious.

“No. I know that’ll be hard for you, but please don’t.”

“Then what do we do?”

“Wait. It’s all we can do.”

“Ugh.... All this ‘waiting’ and ‘patience,’ I don’t know how you can stand it.”

“I don’t know how you can stand to get shot in the chest five times a day but I still talk to you.”

“Touche.”

***

“Ok, real talk: how much trouble are you in?” Jane asked Diana at the watercooler.

“What, I - nothing, everything is fine.”

“Diana, Soders pulled you in to talk to you_ the day after you told me you were having an affair with your agent,_ it’s not fine. Do we have to kill him?”

“What? No! I -”

“Hey guys, what’s up?” Jordan suddenly interrupted.

“Nothing, just -”

“Jordan knows, Diana, it’s fine.”

“Wha - you told -”

“Of course I told them, we’re all in this together!”

“Told me wha - OH YEAH the affair!”

“Shhh!” Dianna hissed. “They could be _listening!”_

“Real talk though, do we have to kill Soders?” Jordan asked, more quietly. “Like it’s cool if we do I just gotta make sure we’re on the same page.”

“No! No one has to kill anyone!” Diana replied, flustered. “If you _must_ know, he was _warning me_. The Board is suspicious of 47 and I’s relationship, but they aren’t doing anything yet. He just wanted to make sure I didn’t get myself in trouble.”

“I didn’t even know you knew _how_ to get in trouble,” Jordan joked. “But seriously, if the Board’s pissed that’s pretty bad. Are you _sure_ we don’t need to kill someone to keep this quiet?”

“Yes. And if you kill or threaten Soders and he leaves because of it, that nullifies the bet, remember?”

“This isn’t about the bet, Diana,” Jane retorted. “We’re just trying to look out for you.”

“Then _trust me_. I have this under control.”

“If you say so....”

***

It was about three in the afternoon and the day was beginning to drag. No missions, no training, just paperwork. Jordan’s eyes were going crossed from all the reading, so they slid their office chair over to Diana’s cubicle. They’d been wondering about something and it seemed as good a time as any to ask.

“Hey Diana,” they said, trying not to disrupt the office’s quiet atmosphere. “So like, you’ve slept with 47, right?”

“Yes, we’ve established that,” she replied through gritted teeth, not looking up from what she was working on.

“So like... does he ever... bolt awake? Suddenly?” Jordan asked hesitantly. Diana stopped and looked up, surprised.

“Actually... yes. That _did_ happen. More than once. He’d wake up in the middle of the night and just, stare for a few moments, like he was confused.” She paused. “How did you know...?”

“Because 23 does the same thing. He’ll bolt awake screaming sometimes, and it takes a while for me to ground him. And then it’s like he can’t remember why? He’s normally pretty open with me about things that bother him.”

“How curious....”

“Yeah.... Like, the ICA made them, right?”

“As far as I’m aware.”

“So like....” Jordan flicked their eyes back and forth around the room nervously. “What did they _do to them?”_

“I... I don’t know. But that is interesting.... I’ll have to look into it.”

***

Five o’clock. Time to go home. Or at least, it would be, on any other day. When Diana stood to leave, Jordan and Jane locked eyes and nodded at each other.

“You go ahead, Diana,” Jordan said, pretending to be involved in their paperwork. “I’ve gotta wrap some stuff up.” Diana raised an eyebrow, but she didn’t question it.

“Alright,” she replied. “See you tomorrow.” She picked up her things and left without another word. Jordan and Jane pretended to be busy.

Soders had finished his work and was finally ready to go home. The office felt tense ever since he’d met with the Board about Diana’s affair; he was more than ready to go home and have a drink. Or two. Or ten. He’d gathered his papers and was walking to the open door when someone grabbed him by the back of his jacket collar and pulled. He stopped, stumbling backwards. The door started to shut, ushed by Jane, who’d been standing behind it.

“We gotta talk, boss,” she addressed him, arms crossed. Soders took a deep breath. This could be a tricky situation.

“What happens in Section A _stays_ in Section A,” Jordan’s voice came from behind him. Their hand was still firmly gripping his collar. “You know that right?”

“What is this... about?”

“The thing is,” Jane continued, “We’re tight, you know? We stick together. And you haven’t even been here six months.”

“So if you’re trying to get Diana in trouble,” Jordan said quietly, “don’t. Unless you wanna end up dead in a dumpster somewhere. Got it?”

“Look,” Soders answered carefully. “Diana getting in trouble is the last thing I want; trust me.” _If something happened to her, I’d be stuck with you two idiots,_ he thought, choosing not to say that out loud. “I was just warning her that the Board’s... watching. More carefully. I didn’t even know about any of this before they told me their suspicions.”

“If you say so,” Jane replied. “But you’d better be doing whatever you can to get them off her back, or you’re for it.” Soders nodded slowly, and he felt Jordan release their grip on his clothes.

“Keep it that way,” they said. “No skin off our teeth if we lose another dumbass manager.”

“Right. Duly noted,” he whispered back. “Can I go now?” Jane moved away from the door and lifted her hands in a yielding gesture. Soders quickly strode out of the room, releasing a tense sigh. These handlers were so much more than he could ever have been prepared for. He made a note to make extra certain that nothing happened to Diana.


	4. Father

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy folks, this one's a bit longer, and I might've accidentally redacted everything before Hitman: Blood Money, bu ya know. It happens XD
> 
> Also uh... there's some child abuse in this chapter so use your discretion ^^;

## Excerpt from Ort-Meyer’s Notes

We’re beginning Year 12 of the project, and the subjects have been exhibiting more extreme differentiation than I’d anticipated. While this learning is useful for future generations of the project, there may have to be more generations than originally expected. Of course, assuming **[REDACTED]** continues to support me, resources will not be an issue.

Subject 23 is by far the most disappointing example. He is, for lack of a better phrase, painfully stupid; he has no initiative whatsoever, and can only operate when given simple instructions. He exhibits other abnormal behaviors as well - namely, he refuses to look people in the eye when he is being spoken to, he stutters, barely speaks above a whisper, and repeats what he’d just said under his breath. A complete and utter failure. If nothing else, I suppose his specific genetic format will be a lesson in what _not_ to do. Perhaps eventually I will find a use for him, but I can’t imagine what that would be. Perhaps at the very least he could serve as an organ donor to the others, although that seems like a waste.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, Subject 49 is extremely violent and erratic. He’s always eager to practice with weaponry or hand-to-hand combat and frequently gets into unauthorized fights with the other subjects. Unfortunately, he refuses to be controlled, and some of the guards find his behaviour frightening, perhaps even dangerous. It’s a shame too; he’s talented; but a soldier who refuses to follow orders is no good to us. Still, a lust for violence isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Perhaps he’ll settle down as he gets older.

Subject 42 displays the proper talent and willingness to follow orders, but he’s overly confident in his abilities, and I’ve been told he bullies the other subjects when he thinks no one is looking. This may be problematic if it affects his ability to work in a team. The cockiness may also lead to issues in the future (they do say that pride comes before the fall). Hopefully he grows out of this. Otherwise, he’s a well-behaved and promising subject.

That said, one subject stands out clearly among the rest: Subject 47. While the other subjects display at least a few minor flaws, 47 is absolutely perfect. He is cold, objective, and resourceful. He outperforms nearly every other subject in every area of study. He’s extremely intelligent, and while he is willing and capable of following orders, he is also intuitive and adapts to any situation. He is the very image of the soldiers I envisioned when I began this project, and I need no further evidence to confirm that his genetic format is the best choice for the next generation. **[REDACTED]** is sure to be pleased with these results; surely they’d convince him that this is not a waste of time. Subject 47 is the key to this project’s future success.

Subject 6 is a very close second; it’s a shame about the hair. 6 is among the handful of subjects that, unfortunately, didn’t acquire the hairless gene, which is an absolute shame, because otherwise he seems to be a match for 47 in every way. As much of a liability as hair can be (leaving genetic evidence everywhere could be an absolute nightmare), this flaw is at least easy to compensate for.

Another thing of note is that 47 and 6 seem to be able to communicate telepathically, or at least, without the use of verbal communication. I will have to look back on the psionic structures of their individual genetic formats to determine the cause. The guards seem to find this behavior unnerving, but having no need to communicate verbally could be a massive benefit to the final generation. That said, it seems to only work within a certain range; 47 and 6 do not separate from each other if they are given a choice. (One might say they were joined at the hip, as it were). I must further research this phenomenon.

The other subjects are not noteworthy. They all exhibit at least a few minor flaws, but are otherwise mediocre overall. That said, I will attest that I am satisfied with Generation 0, and the findings from this generation will not only further the project, but my research on cloning as a whole.

***

Subject 49 wiped the blood off of his nose. He was used to taking a few knocks in sparring practice, but this was not sparring practice. The boys were left unsupervised and 42 had punched him in the face for almost entirely no reason.

“What’s the matter, freak?” his opponent jeered in a low voice, unheard by anyone else. “Too much for you? It’s not like your face could look any worse.”

_“We have the same face!”_ 49 hissed back, straightening to give it a go. If 42 wanted a fight, he was getting one. He lunged forward with his right fist, landing square in 42’s gut. The other boy spluttered, caught off guard, but quickly regained composure. He swung down on 49’s shoulder with his arm, striking the tendon that connected to his neck. 49 fell back, stunned, and 42 stood up again, still sporting a cocky grin.

“Now I know why you’re always hanging around 23,” he smirked. “That _defect_ makes _you_ look good.”

“Don’t _call him that!”_ 49 shouting, charging forward and knocking the other boy over, pinning him down by the throat with one hand and beating him with the other. Suddenly he heard boots, and a stronger pair of arms grabbed him and pulled him off of the floor.

“What’s going on here?” a calm, somewhat bored sounding voice asked. 49’s rage started to dim and he realized he was being held by a guard, and Father was looking down on him.

“Fucking psycho...” 42 muttered, gasping and standing to his feet.

_“Don’t **call me that!”**_ 49 shouted again. It took three guards to hold him back, but they managed. Barely.

“That’s enough,” Father said sternly. The boys immediately stopped struggling and stood at attention, albeit begrudgingly. “Now, would _either_ _of you_ care to explain?”

“He started it....”

“Did not! You punched me in the face!”

“_You_ called me a prick!”

_“Enough!”_ Father touched the bridge of his nose, irritated. “You _both_ know better than to pick fights. I have more important things to do than to come down here _every five minutes_ to lecture you. Which reminds me, you -” he gestured to one of the guards.

“Yes, Doctor Ort-Meyer?”

“Make sure I’m not interrupted for something trivial like this again. You and your men should be perfectly capable of keeping the subjects under control; or at least, you’d _better _be for how much I’m paying you.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Now, as for you two -” he turned his attention back to the boys, and 49 swallowed nervously. “I’m very disappointed. You’re twelve years old; you really ought to know better by now. I’m disappointed in _you,”_ he pointed to 49, “for not keeping your temper, and I’m disappointed in _you,”_ he said to 42, “for picking a fight you couldn’t even win.” 42 chuffed, affronted. “None of that; if I hadn’t broken it up, you’d be a smear on the floor by now. And, frankly, I regret not allowing that; it might’ve taught you a lesson.” He paused, and sighed. “You’ve both lost your meal privileges until morning. Naughty boys go to bed without supper.”

“What?!” 49 shouted. “That’s not fair, I won the fight!” Father slapped him across the face with the back of his hand.

_“You’ll lose more than that if you keep talking back to me._ Now apologize for wasting my time!”

“Sorry....”

“Sorry _what?”_

“Sorry, _father.”_ Father frowned at his tone, but didn’t say anything more to him.

“And you?” he asked 42.

“Sorry, father.”

“That’s better. Now if I catch you two fighting outside the practice ring _one more time_ it’ll be a week in solitary for _both of you,_ understood?”

“Yes, father.”

“Good. Now I have business to attend to.” He turned and walked away, muttering under his breath: “So disappointing....” The guards followed him out.

When they were gone 42 turned back to 49: “Next time we _practice_, I’m gonna beat you into a paste for this.”

“Oh, like it’s _my_ fault.”

“_We_ got caught because _you_ shouted. Honestly, you’re lucky he threatened to put us in solitary, because otherwise I’d beat the shit out of you _right now.”_ He turned and walked away.

“Prick...” 49 muttered.

***

_(Scene opens on a break room. _ **Guard 2__** _ is sitting at a small table in the center, sipping a cup of coffee. _ **Guard 1__** _ enters, looking a bit rattled.)_

**Guard 2:** What happened to _you?_

**Guard 1:** 49 was pummeling another subject and I had to break it up. He hit me in the jaw with his elbow when I pulled him off. Then the other brat decided to provoke him _again_ and it took _three of us_ to hold him back.

**Guard 2:** Damn.

**Guard 1:** Yeah. _(He rubs his jaw absentmindedly.)_

_(beat)_

**Guard 2: **That kid’s scary. My family raised huskies growing up - you know, sled dogs. And you know how hard it is to hold back a dog that wants to run? Like you need a grown man for every dog on the team. And you’re telling me that one kid needed _three grown men_ to hold him back?

**Guard 1:** Oh yeah. And I know I’m not the only one who got bruises from it. Not only that, Ort-Meyer expects _us_ to be able to keep them under control while he does... whatever it is he does in that lab of his.

**Guard 2:** Damn.

**Guard 1:** Yeah. How the _hell_ does he expect us to control these things when they get older?! They’ve barely even hit puberty and _three of us_ could barely keep that kid from commiting a murder! I know I’m just a hired gun, but I really don’t think he understands what these brats are capable of. Most of them behave fine but 49.... That kid scares me.

**Guard 2:** I dunno, I think 47 and 6 are scarier. They talk at the same time and finish each other’s sentences and shit, it’s weird.

**Guard 1:** Oh yeah no, I mean, the twins are creepy; don’t get me wrong. But 49 is _violent_. Mark my words, that kid’s gonna snap one of these days, and when he does? You’d better _pray_ you have enough bullets in your gun to stop him.

***

47 and 6 sat down next to 23 and 49, as they usually did. 49 did not have a tray of food in front of him, and as they looked down at their own plates, they were beginning to think that he was lucky in that respect. 23 was picking at his food with his fork, trying not to make eye contact.

“You got in trouble again, didn’t you?” 47 asked.

“Yeah....”

“Did you get in a fight with 42 again?” 6 asked, daring to take a bite to eat.

“I mean, yeah, but I _won_ and also he started it.”

“That’s what you always say,” 47 and 6 answered in unison.

“Well, it’s _true...”_ 49 grumbled. “He should know by now not to antagonize me. I’ve _still_ never lost a fight, practice or... well, you know.”

“You could try ignoring him,” 6 offered, trying to be helpful.

“Look, I get in trouble if I fight him, I get in trouble if I don’t. I’ve given up by this point.”

“That’s fair,” the pair agreed. Father was biased and difficult to please.

“Have you ever considered that the problem might be _you?”_ came another voice.

“Speak of the devil...” 49 muttered.

“Do you need something?” 47 and 6 grumbled. 42, who had just approached the table, looked at them with an angry scowl.

“Only to tell you that your batshit friend almost got me in solitary.”

“To be honest, I wish that he had,” 6 replied.

“Quiet, freak! Hanging out with 47 isn’t going to make you any less _defective!”_ 6 started to move to attack him, but 47 put a hand on his shoulder to hold him back.

_Don’t,_ he thought to his companion. _It’s not worth it._

“Do it!” 49 joked when he noticed. “It’ll be funny if he goes to solitary and _I don’t!”_

47 sighed and clutched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. The food certainly wasn’t helping. He looked at 6 and they both nodded.

“We’re done eating,” they said together, standing with their trays and walking away.

“Why don’t you hang out with someone who’s worth your time, 47?” 42 asked, trailing behind. 47 was pointedly ignoring him. “Hey, kiss-ass, I’m talking to you!” Another pause. 47 passed his tray to 6. “Hey, just because you’re Father’s_ favorite_ doesn’t mean you can just ignore me you -” 42 reached out to grab 47 by the shoulder, but he didn’t have the chance. 47 twisted out of reach and knocked the other boy unconscious using the tin cup he’d been given with his meal. 6 had finished putting their trays in the designated location and was heading back to meet with his double.

“Very well done, 47,” came Father’s voice. The scientist stepped out of the corner he’d been watching from. “Excellently handled. So elegant and precise; dispatched without any need for fuss. Almost as if you could see two steps ahead; absolutely wonderful.” He gave 47 a supportive pat on the head. His touch made 47’s skin crawl. Father turned his attention on 42 with a disappointed grimace. “Now, as for you....” He looked up and pointed at the nearest guard. “You there, guard! Whoever-you-are!”

“Yes, sir?”

“Lock this one up in solitary,” he said, pointing at the unconscious boy on the floor. “Two losses in one day; so disappointing. I expected better from him.” Father shook his head sadly as a distant “Ha!” could be heard from 49 back at the table.

“May we leave?” 47 asked after a few moments. Walking away without being dismissed would be a horrible mistake.

“Yes, yes, go on...” Father muttered, seeming distracted. 47 and 6 turned to walk away. “Not you,” Father said suddenly, grabbing 6 by the sleeve. 6 clenched his teeth as Father ran his hand over the top of the boy’s head. 47 could do nothing but look on, feeling his friend’s dread as Father ran his hand over the stubble on 6’s head. “You... need a shave.”

***

“Hold still, brat!” The guard shouted at 6, pressing a straight razor to the subject’s neck. As though it wasn’t torture enough to know that growing hair meant you were a failure, this guard in particular had a mean streak.

“C’mon man, leave the kid alone and let’s just get it over with,” one of the other guards groaned. The first whirled around to face him, still wielding the razor.

“Shut the hell up!” he shouted. “I’m damn sick of Ort-Meyer and his _freaks,_ I’m not a _babysitter,_ and if you don’t shut your _fucking mouth_ I’ll take it out on _you_ instead!”

“Ok dude, Jesus...” the other guard said, putting his hands up and backing away.

“That’s what I thought.” He turned back to 6, who clenched his teeth and flinched in spite of himself. “You know, when I got this job, I thought I’d be doing something _cool_, not babysitting _rugrats._ But you know what I _do_ like about you atrocities?” He cut an inch-long slice into 6’s cheek and smiled as the blood ran down the blade. “You heal quick enough that I can do whatever I want to you.”

***

A research assistant was walking down the hallway holding a clipboard when he suddenly heard a voice call his name.

“Ah! Ferdinand!” He looked up. It was Ort-Meyer, also holding a clipboard and tapping a pen against it absentmindedly. “I was hoping for an opinion on something.”

_Oh no..._ Ferdinand thought, silently dreading this. Giving Ort-Meyer an opinion on anything was just an invitation for a lecture on how wrong and stupid that opinion is. Regardless, he didn’t exactly have a choice but to humor it.

“So our... ah... _benefactors_ have granted us a few prisoners to dispose of, and the boys always need live targets for practice, but I’m not sure who to delegate the responsibility to. I would really enjoy watching 49 tear them to pieces, but I also quite like the idea of releasing them into the yard and having 47 and 6 hunt them down like a pair of wolves.”

“Ah... a difficult choice, indeed.” Ferdinand failed to suppress a shudder. The way his employer talked about murder as though it was no more than a weapon drill was geniunely chilling. “I don’t know which I’d go with.”

_“Of course_ you don’t,” Ort-Meyer sighed, rolling his eyes and muttering. Ferdinand couldn’t quite make out what the other man had said under his breath, and he was honestly grateful for that. “Oh, speaking of 47 and 6, I need to dig out my notes from the start of the project and study their psionic structures. They seem to be able to communicate telepathically and I’d _love_ to utilize that in the next generation.”

“Right.” _I’m going to regret this._ “Uh... remind me again about the psionics?” Ort-Meyer gave him a withering look and sighed.

“You’ve been here for a month and you _really should know by now_ but, if you insist. In addition to the physical genetic modifications, each subject is created with a psionic structure in their brain. Entirely organic, and, if I may say so, a _brilliant feat_ of bioengineering, but I won’t ramble on with the technical details. Essentially, the structure grants them increased perception and learning abilities, the ability to understand anything spoken to them regardless of language, as well as a database of skills, martial arts, _et cetera._ And seemingly, in the case of 47 and 6, some form of telepathic link, or other non-verbal communication, which warrants further study.”

“Right.”

“Anyways, I assume there were no further issues today with 42?”

“We caught Subject 25 sharing his dinner with 42 and punished him accordingly, but other than that, no.”

“Good. So impertinent, that one. It’s really a shame, I had high hopes for him.” Ort-Meyer shook his head sadly. “And as far as 25... I can’t imagine where I went wrong there. He’s talented, of course, but he’s _nice._ He’s not supposed to be _nice._ 24 has the same problem. Don’t even get me started on 23. Something went wrong with that _entire strain_ and I really need to look into it to make sure it never happens again. I’ll have to talk to 25 in the morning. Hopefully a day without food and a good hard smack will set him straight.”

Ferdinand swallowed. “Are you sure it’s... wise... to be... hitting them? Especially considering 49’s more... violent... tendencies....”

“Oh, nonsense; children need discipline. My creations would _never_ turn on me - I’m their _father,_ after all - and even if they did, I have a plan for that. You remember those psionic structures I mentioned?” he asked. Ferdinand nodded. “I built in a safety mechanism to prevent having to terminate subjects in the event of a rebellion - they are quite expensive, you know.” Ort-Meyer took a small device out of his pocket - about the size of a pen. It looked like a remote trigger or detonator. “Clicking the button on this will release a signal for a half mile radius that their psionic minds will react to, triggering a total system reset. Which means, in layman’s terms, since I know you aren’t the brightest, every subject within half a mile of the trigger will black out and wake up with no access to their memories of anything that happened before that moment. Brilliant, isn’t it?”

“I suppose....”

“Ferdinand please, this is _cloning_ we’re talking about,” Ort-meyer said, placing a hand on the other man’s shoulder and giving him a condescending smile. “I _wrote_ the book.”

***

49 returned to the room he and 23 shared, a bit later than usual, but still in time for curfew. Frankly, he was lucky he was allowed to return at all - he’d gotten into another fight after someone had punched 23 in the face. 23 was already waiting for him in the room, and the bruise over his eye had already faded to a dull yellow-brown color.

“Hello,” 23 murmered.

“Hi, 23,” 49 sighed.

“I didn’t think you were coming back.”

“Yeah, me neither, but it turns out the threat of solitary confinement only applied if I got in a fight with _42_, and he’s already in solitary so.... I got away with it.” There was a pause as 49 stretched and started to get ready for bed. “How’s your eye?”

“It’s fine.”

“If it makes you feel better, I gave him a bigger one.”

“Hmm....”

“Something up?”

“I... I-I-I.... I got you this,” 23 muttered, pulling a somewhat smushed bread roll out of a hiding place in his shirt and offering it to 49.

“Oh no, 23,” 49 replied, concerned. “You shouldn’t - where did you even get that?”

“I saved it,” he muttered. “From dinner.”

“You shouldn’t have, you really shouldn’t.... You shouldn’t give them _excuses_ to punish you, if you’d’ve been caught then -” He stopped when he saw his friend’s expression: red-faced, tense, looking down at the floor. 49 felt bad for chastising him. “I’m sorry, I’m not angry with you. But you should worry about_ yourself_; I’m fine. Promise.” 49’s stomach growled and the sound betrayed him. 23 still seemed unsure, but then again, he always did.

“Oh... oh alright,” 49 agreed, accepting the bread. “But... promise me you’ll be careful, alright? They’re mean enough to you in the first place, you don’t need to antagonize them.”

“But _you_ antagonize them.”

“Yeah well.... I’m not... I’m not a good example.”

“Hmmm...”

“It’ll be alright,” 49 said, placing a hand on 23’s shoulder. The other boy winced a bit but didn’t reply. “I don’t know how yet, but we’re gonna get out of here; just the two of us. No more guards, or bullies, or Father, just us. And then no one’ll ever pick on you again. I promise.” 23 looked up with the faintest of smiles, before looking back down at his feet. “Now let’s get ready for bed, ok?”

***

6 returned to the room he shared with 47, shivering. His skin still stung from the razors, even though the cuts were now no more than faint scars. 47 looked at him with faint sympathy in his eyes, and a question:

_Did you get it?_

6 nodded and produced a straight razor from the sleeve of his shirt. _Are you sure about this?_

_ Absolutely._ The pair of them quietly tore back a bit of the wallpaper of the room. In turn, they each took the blade and cut a mark into the palm of their left hand until their fingers were covered in red.

_No matter what..._

_... no matter how deep this runs..._

_... no matter how high up this goes..._

_... or who stands in our way..._

_... we’re bound to this._

They each placed their sanguine hands on the bare patch of wall, sealing in blood one single unspoken pact:

_Kill them. Kill them **all.**_


	5. Memento

_Blood everywhere.... Some of it was his; some of it wasn’t.... A boy on the ground.... A gastly mirror image...._

49 bolted awake sweating. What had he been dreaming about? He couldn’t quite remember. His head ached like it’d been whacked with a hammer. He was panting like he’d ran a marathon. It took a few minutes for him to realize that he was, in fact, sitting upright in his bed at the ICA dormitory, and not... well, wherever it was the dream had taken place. The scene was quickly fading into a blur of dark reds and blues, and the more he tried to remember the details, the worse his head hurt.

Funnily enough, the sensation reminded him of earlier in the week, when he’d been leaving a mission and heard the word “father.” He made a mental note to tell 47 about it as he got up to take a tylenol before falling back asleep.

***

Erich Soders II strutted down the hallway, his four-inch-heeled boots clacking on the tile. He’d gotten to the office early that day. There was something he needed to discuss with his father. He reached his father’s office and swung the door open without knocking.

“Father!” he shouted with feined fondness and a devilish smile. “How are you?”

“Terrible, _now_,” the veteren ICA agent grumbled.

“Good,” Soders II replied, his tone unchanging. He shut the door and approached his father’s desk.

“What do you want?”

“Surely you’ve heard of the investigation the Board is running on Diana and 47?” His tone dropped to a more serious pitch.

“I have; what about it?”

“I want every piece of information on that case you have access to. Full briefings, evidence, every _single_ file that you can get your hands on.”

“And _why_ would I give you that?”

“Oh Father,” Soders replied, the smile returning to his face. “Clearly your memory is slipping. You _are_ getting older, after all. So allow me to remind you.” He paused and leaned forward onto his father’s desk. “I wasn’t your _only_ indiscretion, was I? Not by a longshot. You’ve done _quite a bit_ of messing around in the field, haven’t you? I’ve been compiling a file.” Soders I scowled. “Now, _obviously_ the Board would be very unhappy to learn you’d been messing around making bastard children instead of completing your missions. So much so that I probably wouldn’t need to mention how many agents you sold out during the requiem incident to save your own skin. Or the sexual harassment cases that suddenly got dropped for no reason. Or that _other_ thing.... What were they called again? Started with a_ P?”_

“Fine!” Soders I growled. “Fine, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good. I want the files by the end of the week. Everything on Diana, everything on 47, and _absolutely everything_ about this investigation, clear?”

“Yes, would you like _anything else?”_ The older man replied snidely. _“A backrub?”_ Soders II eyed up the other man with disgust.

“Not from _you,”_ he answered with a sneer. He leaned in closer. “One week. Absolutely everything. Or I’m taking what I know to the Board and you’ll be kicked out with no retirement before you even realize I’ve said anything.” He turned on a heel and stalked out of the office, boots clicking on the tile floor.

***

“He’s late again,” Jordan pointed out as they sat down at their desk. The days were counting down on the bet. Of course, they’d still lose if he quit because of the death threat, but even that was better than Diana _winning._

“Did you two do something?” Diana asked.

“What? No!” Jordan lied.

“We know the rules, Diana,” Jane retorted. Diana didn’t seem convinced, but before she could further question it, Soders came in through the door. He seemed distracted. He also seemed taller than normal. Although, Jordan thought, that might’ve been because they never really payed attention to what he looked like. Currently standing at about 6’2”, with short brown hair and a lean build, he seemed to be all limbs, and he almost looked _too_ skinny. At the moment he seemed lost in thought.

“Mornin’, asshole,” Jordan called out to him, seeming to snap him out of whatever trail of thought he’d been lost in.

“Ah, yes, good morning...” He didn’t seem to notice the insult, which was somewhat disappointing. “Two missions came in for us today; I’m giving them to you and Diana. Here are the briefings.” He handed one folder to Diana and one to Jordan.

“The Censor,” Jordan read out loud. “What’s his deal then?”

> The true identity of the assignment, a serial killer labelled The Censor, is unknown.
> 
> The nickname “The Censor” stems from the only evidence left at each crime scene: a grade on how much the victims have struggled for their lives.

“Oh, joy,” they said out loud, reading the rest of the briefing to themself. “Apparently he murders people and then grades them on how well they struggled to not die.”

“Like a serial killer?” Jane asked. “But like, not in the fun way.”

“The _fun way,”_ Jordan snorted, breaking down into a giggling fit.

“Jane what does that even mean?” Diana asked. “‘The fun way’?”

“Well you know,” Jane answered. “Like what _we_ do.” “What?! No, it’s nothing like what we do at all!”

“Don’t act like you don’t photoshop flower crowns onto serial killers, Diana, we all know you do,” Jordan remarked sarcastically.

“I do _not!_” Diana shouted. “Serial killers are horrible, dirty excuses for human beings and I’m not going to stand here while you -”

“That’s rich coming from the person banging 47.”

_“47 is not a serial killer!_ He is an _assassin_ and it’s _different!”_

“It’s not _that_ different, Diana,” Soders interrupted casually.

_“You stay out of this.”_

“I’m googling it.” Jordan pulled out their phone and ran a quick search. “Yeah, yeah he definitely meets the FBI’s definition. Technically I think we all do.”

“Oh, maybe _that’s_ why they were hounding us so bad during the Requiem Incident,” Jane pointed out.

“I keep hearing people say ‘the Requiem Incident,’ what the fuck is the requiem incident?” Jordan asked.

“Oh yeah, yeah that was _way_ before your time wasn’t it?” Jane replied. “You tell ‘em, Diana, you tell it better than I do.”

“Right.” Diana took a deep breath and centered herself. “The Requiem Incident happened in 2006. Long story short, ICA agents suddenly started getting killed left and right, and no one could figure out who was behind it or why. The Board locked down the headquarters and training facilities, and anyone left on the outside had to fend for themselves. Jane and I, and 49 and 47, were among the small handful of survivors. Turns out, the director of the FBI had it out for 47 specifically, and he had his agents taking us apart to try and get to him.”

“Tell them the end bit. That’s my favorite bit.”

“Of course,” Diana smiled fondly. “I decided it would be best to catch the attackers in a trap - reveal them and destroy them in one fell swoop. So I faked 47’s death with a serum the ICA had invented.”

“Oh, like a Romeo and Juliet kinda thing?”

“Yes, but in this story when I kissed him he woke up.”

“And then murdered every single person at the funeral after you left and _locked the doors behind you,”_ Jane added.

“What the fuck, that’s so badass!”

“Don’t forget the part where you _singlehandedly rebuilt the ICA from scratch,”_ Soders interrupted. “I read about that in your file, it’s damn impressive.”

“Well, I don’t like to brag....”

“I dunno Diana, that’s quite the achievement,” Jordan replied. “I’m amazed they didn’t go over any of this with me when I was in training.”

“Anyhow, you’ve both got missions to plan for. Inform your agents that they’re needed in the field today. I’ll leave you to prepare.” Soders resumed his distracted demeanor and headed to his office. Diana opened the mission briefing she’d been holding and sat down to study it. Jordan figured they should probably take a closer look at theirs too.

There was no photo of the target. This was gonna be rough.

***

Soders sat down at his desk and sighed, pulling a bottle of bourbon out from a bottom drawer. Nine a.m. wasn’t too early to start drinking. Feigning confidence was absolutely exhausting, and looking at his father’s face was even worse. His mother always said he looked like his father. He hated being confronted by how true that was.

Thinking about his mother was a mistake. He poured a shot and knocked it back, trying to refocus his thoughts. Black mail was always tricky. His father was easy to threaten and manipulate but there was always a chance he could call Soders’s bluff.

Erich Soders II had enough dirt on his father to burn down his career in an instant, but of course, that wasn’t what he wanted. It wasn’t enough to disgrace his father, and it wasn’t enough to kill him. He needed to do both. Either on its own would be too kind. This man was his nemesis, the source of his misery ever since he was born; he had to be _destroyed,_ completely and utterly.

He sighed and took another shot. As nerve-wracking as it was to be this close, he just had to be patient. He’d waited _years_ for a kill before; he could do it again. At the very least, he knew there’d be no way his father would ever go to the Board about this - not without them making him confess it all himself. He had his father fully under his heel; now it was just a matter of waiting for the right moment to squash him.

Someone knocked on the office door and he quickly hid the bottle away. “Come in,” he answered, trying to sound casual. The door swung open and Diana wandered in.

“Sorry to... interrupt,” she said, glancing at the shot glass that was still on the desk. “But I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“Have a seat.” She closed the door and sat down, taking her earpiece out of her ear and shutting it off.

“So,” she began, “I was talking to Jordan the other day, and they said something interesting. Apparently, 23 has been suffering from night terrors - bolting awake and then seemingly forgetting what had frightened him.” Soders nodded, and she continued. “47 does the exact same thing. So I asked Jane, and she told me that 49’s told _her_ the same thing. They’ve _all_ had night terrors, more than once, and none of them can remember what about.”

“Strange....”

“Exactly, and I’m wanting to look into it. They all came from the same batch, didn’t they? I’ve been trying to find records but it’s all a bit above my clearance level, and I’d rather the Board didn’t find out about this particular investigation because... well, I’m sure you understand.” Soders nodded. It’d be difficult to tell the Board that she knew about 47’s sleeping habits without also admitting that they’ve slept together.

“I’ll see what I can do. I’ve been trying to... obtain... some documents pertaining to similar subjects to help you avoid... _investigation._ I’ll let you know what I find.”

“Thank you.” She put her earpiece back in and left without another word.

***

47 was thinking. There wasn’t much else to do outside of missions. Unfortunately, with the thinking came the _feeling_, and it was getting to be a nuisance. Any time Diana entered his mind it distracted him, no matter what he was doing. And yet... it felt... good. Soft. Warm. Sweet, and bitter. There was nothing he could think of to compare it to. It didn’t make sense; it wasn’t logical, he couldn’t parse and explain it the way he could with everything else. Definitions swirled in his brain: desperation, longing, warmth, affection, trust, fear, craving, libido, overwhelming.... It was too much to analyze.

47 took a deep breath. _Take a step back. Study the problem._ The root of all this was simple: He needed to see Diana again, if only because she always knew what to do. The thing stopping that from happening was the agency; clearly the Board had suspicions, and meeting in their usual way would certainly get them caught. But there was always a way around; if he couldn’t go in through the front door, there were bound to be at least five other ways into the house. Except this wasn’t a house and he couldn’t just go look for a drain pipe or an open window - it was unfortunately a bit more complicated than that. He needed more information. He needed to think of a way to contact her discreetly.

Come to think of it, it wouldn’t be _too_ hard to sneak into Diana’s house. He’d never been, of course, but he knew where it was. Surely it’d be well within his skill set regardless of security; he’d gotten in and out of the White House undetected before. It’d be simple enough to quickly slip in, leave her a message, and disappear.

Still... would he be willing to spend the effort to get so close to her without actually seeing or meeting or touching her? Would he even be able to resist? Ordinarily nothing could call his self-control into question, but with Diana....

This was too frustrating. He decided to meet 49 at the barracks, if only to try and think about something different. If nothing else, he could always ask 49 what he would do, because anything 49 suggests is certainly a terrible idea, and can be removed from the list of options.

“Hi 47,” 49 greeted him when he came in the door. “Something up? You look like you’re thinking, like more than usual.”

“Yeah, I...” He took a deep breath and sighed. “It’s Diana. I haven’t heard anything from her since the text. I don’t have enough information about what’s going on and I don’t like it.”

“47, are you getting _impatient??”_ 49 replied mockingly. “Is that what I’m hearing? You don’t want to _wait_ anymore?”

“No, I just - Listen, the last time she went radio dead like this I woke up at my own funeral. This is Diana we’re talking about - no news is _not_ good news.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Silence. “Hey so I’ve been meaning to ask you something. You remember a few days ago when we were talking about forgetting things?”

47 nodded.

“So, I had this dream last night, and I woke up sweating, but I don’t actually remember what it was about? And when I got up to take some tylenol I realized the headache was the same.”

“Interesting,” 47 replied. He’d had similar experiences. Perhaps Diana would have more information? She had higher clearance in the ICA’s files, after all. He made a mental note to ask.

“And it’s interesting because - Like, ok, what’s the first thing you remember?” 47 thought for a moment, but 49 continued without waiting for an answer: “Waking up in a room? With an ICA agent? When you were thirteen?”

47 nodded.

“See, and that doesn’t make sense to me. I mean we couldn’t have just popped into existence at thirteen. And the guy was asking me all sorts of questions, like ‘what’s your name’ and ‘where did you come from’ and... well then I started coughing up bullets and it seriously freaked him out but that’s beside the point. I brought it up to Jane and she said the ICA made us, and she wouldn’t lie to me, but I dunno... nothing about this makes sense.”

47 nodded again. He’d asked Diana the same question and she’d said the same thing - but 49 was right; it didn’t make sense. He held the side of his forehead trying to think, and as he did so he caught sight of the scar on the palm of his left hand. Something about it nagged at him as he stared at it - like a string tied around his finger, trying to remind him of something he’d forgotten. Like a thought on the tip of his tongue; the more he chased it the further it eluded him. His head started to hurt.

Suddenly a voice in his ear startled him out of his thoughts - a voice he’d been longing to hear.

“47, we’ve gotten an assignment,” Diana’s voice told him. “I’m sending you the briefing now.”

“Right,” 47 replied, staying professional. The agency was certainly monitoring their calls, after all.

“A mission?” 49 mouthed silently. 47 nodded, putting his jacket back on and leaving the room to retrieve his laptop.

“Your destination is the Paris fashion show by Sanguine, one of Europe's leading couture brands. Your targets are Sanguine owner Viktor Novikov, a former oligarch turned fashion mogul, and his partner, Dalia Margolis, a retired supermodel. An iconic power couple on the global fashion scene, and two of the most dangerous people in the world,” Diana continued as 47 pulled up the mission briefing on his computer. He’d never had difficulty focusing on briefings before, but his mind was buzzing with questions. How could he meet her again? How could he contact her without blowing their cover? What exactly _is_ happening with the Board? Diana sounded as calm and professional as always; her voice gave nothing away. He tried to focus on the briefing.

Apparently, the targets’ fashion business was only a front for a spy ring that sold information indiscriminately to the highest bidder, and they’d received some dangerous information about the MI6, who, naturally, wanted them silenced before they had a chance to sell it. The mission was to take place during the show, which was sure to be crawling with security and witnesses - but then again, sometimes the best place to hide is in plain sight.

“Two targets. A highly public event. At first glance, an impossible task. Then again, I do know how you love a challenge.” Her tone changed ever so slightly in that last sentence and it made 47’s face burn - the faintest hint of that teasing whisper she’d breath in his ear across the pillow. It sent his brain into overdrive, looking for patterns that weren’t there.

“I will leave you to prepare.”

***

“Wait, Jordan, are you done with your mission already??”

“Yeah, turns out it was easy,” the handler replied to their very flabbergasted manager. “I thought it’d be tough since we didn’t even have a photo but like honestly? Probably the easiest mission I’ve had in a while.”

“Jordan, you can’t just say that and not tell us what happened,” Jane piped up with an intrigued smile.

“So basically, I figured if the serial killer’s looking for a new victim, he’s gonna be in a public place, right? So one of the houses was having a barbeque and the whole neighborhood was there, and I was like ‘that’s gotta be the place.’ So we went in to have a sniff around, and this guy said something creepy to a lady -”

“So you killed him.”

“Yeah.”

“But how do you _know_ it was him?”

“Well, like, so the girl was like ‘I need some action _if it kills me!!’_ and he was like ‘ThAt CaN bE aRrAnGed,’” Jordan quoted, putting on a silly cartoon villain’s voice for the man and pretending to curl a mustache. “And I was like ‘oh yeah, that’s him alright.’ And then the guy just?? Drinks from an open glass of wine, like an _amature -_”

“So you drowned him in a toilet.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, you know what they say,” Jane replied. “It takes one to know one.”

“Oh, shut up, I don’t need this from Ms. ‘The Fun Way.’”

Soders let out a deep sigh and changed the subject. “How’re you doing, Diana?”

“He’ll be entering the mission area shortly,” she answered, not looking up from the files she was studying. “I’ve been looking through the intel for possible opportunities.”

“Anything interesting?”

“A few things. For example, the FSB has been mounting a criminal case against Novikov, one of the targets, but the section chief leading the investigation suddenly committed suicide last night - or at least, so it would seem. There’s another senior FSB agent on the guest list and I can’t help but suspect Novikov arranged the whole thing. I also noticed one of the models bears a striking resemblance to 47 so that might be useful.”

“Well, good luck.”

***

“Welcome to Paris, 47,” Diana said in 47’s earpiece. “The show is just about to start.” 47 took a deep breath. Hearing Diana again was causing more strange feelings in his chest. That wasn’t good, he thought; he needed to focus on the mission. He proceeded forward towards the building’s entrance, his sharp tuxedo blending in seamlessly with the other guests. As he entered and looked around, a spotlight came on over the palatial staircase in the center of the hall, and Viktor Novikov strode down the stairs in grand fashion - 47’s first target.

Showtime.

47 casually slipped into the door underneath the main staircase, which led to a basement stairway, dropping into a crouch and proceeding silently down into what he correctly presumed would be the serving staff area. He’d decided to go after Dalia first, since she was in the most secure location and would probably take the most effort, and Viktor would probably be easier to deal with after the show had finished and people started to leave. With that in mind, it was a simple case of getting the right disguise and working his way up the building.

“There’s a locker room ahead,” Diana’s voice said. “The door on the right.” 47 wasn’t surprised that she’d guessed his thought process. She knew him better than anyone. He slipped in through the open door and concealed himself behind the row of lockers. There was a waitress sitting in a chair sobbing on the other side, with another woman leaning over to try and comfort her. And, as expected, a spare waitstaff uniform, which 47 quickly changed into.

“Um, what’s wrong with her?” said a man in his underwear, presumably the owner of the uniform 47 was now wearing.

“Nothing, everything is fine,” the waitress replied.

“No, everything is _NOT_ fine!” the other woman sobbed. “They are treating me like _dirt -_”

47 didn’t care to listen to the rest of the conversation, and instead slipped out of the room while they were distracted.

“That outfit should get you access to most of the ground floor, but you’ll need something else to get higher in the building.” Diana told him. “There’s a staff staircase on the west side of the building that you should be able to sneak into with no trouble.” 47 nodded and headed in that direction, stopping to pick up a crowbar from a crate outside the pantry and tuck it in his lapel. He went through the kitchen without incident and into the stairwell, taking note of the wardrobe just inside as he ascended the steps. He paused after one flight to focus on his instincts. There was a man at the top of the stairs.

47 dropped back into a crouch and slowly crept up to get a better look. It was an AV crewmember, crouched down over some technical equipment. 47 quietly took out the crowbar he’d been carrying, waiting for the right moment. When the crewmember was sufficiently distracted by his work, 47 came up behind him and clocked him on the back of the head, knocking him out silently and instantly. Perfect.

He changed the waiter’s disguise for the AV uniform, taking care to drag the unconscious body back down to the wardrobe by the basement door. It wasn’t terribly likely that anyone would discover it at the top of the stairs, but 47 took no chances.

The AV disguise gave him access to the upper floor, and when he stepped out of the door he found himself on a square balcony overlooking the show. There was an empty room with a wardrobe and a grand piano, which might be useful at some point. Several rooms had open windows, so scaling the side of the building was a possibility. The lighting rig over the runway seemed unstable, but that would certainly cause too much collateral damage. He looked around for another option, while checking his instincts for a location on Dalia Margolis. She was another floor up, most likely overseeing the IAGO auction.

“How come _we_ can’t go upstairs?” a security guard grumbled to his coworker as they walked past. “Those fancy suit guards won’t let us.” 47 made a mental note to acquire a disguise with a higher clearance level, taking his time and orbiting the balcony, looking for clues.

“Man... I never knew this stuff was so complicated,” another security guard mentioned to a tech crew guy who was operating a sound board. “What’s this one do?”

“That’s the fireworks remote. I wouldn’t touch it if I were you. Novikov wants a heads up before we trigger the display.”

_A fireworks remote?_ 47 thought, leaning on the railing so as to make his eavesdropping less obvious.

“Let’s see...” Diana murmured. “It seems Novikov is planning a grand fireworks display at the end of the Sanguine show. Not a bad distraction.”

_Distraction...._ 47 thought, piecing it together in his mind. _If Dalia’s on the top floor of the building, and the fireworks lure her over to a window or a balcony.... Well, that’s just an accident waiting to happen._ He figured that since he was tech crew, it wouldn’t be _too_ suspicious for him to pick up the fireworks remote.

“Hey uh, buddy?” the other tech crew man said. “Might... wanna leave that alone.”

“Novikov asked me to fetch it for him,” 47 answered without missing a beat. “Said he’d like to trigger the fireworks himself.”

“Alright, it’s his money.” The man returned to his work, and 47 headed back to the room with the piano. He pulled the rod that held up the cover of the piano, and slammed shut with a discordant crash. That should’ve gotten someone’s attention. 47 waited casually in the far corner of the room, and sure enough, a waiter in a black vest came to see what had happened to the piano.

“That man works at the auction upstairs,” Diana informed him. “Excellent catch.”

The waiter set the cover of the piano back open and leaned inside to ensure it hadn’t been damaged. He didn’t get very far before 47 pulled the rod out again and the cover of the piano came crashing down on the staff member’s head. Not the quietest way to dispatch someone, but still a classic. He dragged the unconscious staff member to the wardrobe on the other end of the room and put on his clothes.

“47,” Diana began, “security is frisking anyone who wants to go up to the top floor - staff included. You’ll need to find a place to drop your pistol. Perhaps the bathroom on this floor has a bin you could hide it in.”

47 nodded slightly. The guard that had been asking about the remote had gone into the bathroom for a quick smoke, and as soon as he left 47 slipped inside and casually dropped his ICA19 silenced pistol into the trash, quickly and carefully concealing it. Satisfied, he headed towards the stairs and consented to a search. After the frisk was through, he proceeded upwards, using his instincts to get a visual on the target. She was drinking a glass of wine. He made a mental note that poison was also an option if something unexpected happened.

When he reached the auction floor, he casually found Margolis, watching for a bit before discreetly triggering the fireworks remote. Immediately, the bangs and pops of the pyrotechnics started, and Dalia paused.

“Fireworks?” she said. “Is that Viktor’s grand finale?” She started walking towards the sound and 47 followed at a discreet distance. She stopped on a balcony facing the display and paused to light a cigarette. 47 again focused on his instincts briefly, checking for the other target, as Dalia moved to the balcony and leaned on the railing.

_Oh,_ he thought, spotting Novikov on the ground floor. _Oh, this is _too_ perfect._

While the guard on the balcony was distracted taking pictures of the display on his phone, 47 grabbed Dalia Margolis from behind and tossed her over the railing. With a brief shout she hurtled towards the ground...

... and landed directly on top of Viktor Novikov, crushing them both to death. The faintest of smiles flickered across 47’s lips.

“Excellently done, 47,” Diana told him. “That’s both targets down. Head towards an exit.” 47 nodded slightly and retraced his steps back down the building, taking a slight detour to grab a briefcase and few other things, before reclaiming his gun from the bathroom. When he arrived back in the basement, he took a moment to crouch behind some crates and fire a bullet into the server where the security tapes were stored, and then went back into the locker room to recover his tuxedo. With every loose end now tied up, he went back to the entrance, and left the mission area via the gate he had come through when he arrived.

***

“I got you this,” 47 said as he entered the Section A barracks, tossing underhand a screwdriver to 49, who caught it expertly.

“A screwdriver!” he shouted excitedly. “Thanks, I _love_ screwdrivers!” 49 took the screwdriver to his room, where he put it in a drawer with about a dozen other screwdrivers. When he came back into the living room, 47 was already almost out the door again. “Leaving already? You just got here.”

“I have business to take care of.”

***

When Diana got home after work, she was tired. A warm, satisfied kind of tired. The mission was an absolute success, and it was wonderful seeing him again, even if only through the monitor. She still hadn’t thought of a good way to contact him, but perhaps it wasn’t necessary. Odds are they could just wait it out until the Board dropped it. It was a simple matter of patience. Not that the waiting wasn’t difficult - Diana could’ve sworn 47 was taking just a few extra moments to change disguises during the mission, but perhaps that was only her imagination.

With a yawn and a stretch, she opened the door to her bedroom to get ready for bed, and she noticed a shape on the mattress. Medium-sized, rectangular.... A briefcase?

_This had better not explode,_ she thought to herself. _That would perfectly ruin my day._

But then she noticed a mark on the top, sketched into the cloth of the briefcase: a stylised fleur de lis that she would recognize anywhere. This was from 47.

Intrigued but still cautious, she approached it and opened it slowly. A bottle of vodka was nestled on top of some blue fabric. She removed it and carefully placed it aside, pulling out the fabric next, which turned out to be a dress - a Sanguine Original, as a matter of fact, and just her size. And underneath, a much smaller object, almost too hard to make out without taking a closer look:

The fireworks detonator. He’d given her the murder weapon.

## Two Days Previously

Viktor Novikov was having a drink at the back of a bar, enjoying some rare private time as the evening was coming to a close. The Sanguine show was only a few days away, and it was good to have some time to relax between preparations.

“Viktor Novikov,” a low, gravelly voice spoke suddenly, as a figure emerged from the shadows.

“That’s me,” Novikov responded. “I don’t do autographs.”

“That won’t be a problem,” the figure answered with a chuckle. “I’m here about IAGO.”

Novikov laughed. “Well, I might be able to get you an invitation,” he chuckled, “but you’ll have to win your prize in the auction like everyone else.”

“See, that’s not going to work for me,” the man replied calmly. “I need a bit _more_ than your average fair. I was hoping we could work out a special arrangement.”

“What kind of arrangement?” Novikov answered with an amused smile. “What information are you after?”

“All of it.”

“All of it?!” Novikov laughed again. “What could you possibly offer that’s worth -”

“Perhaps the head of a certain FSB Chief.”

Viktor stopped laughing. “Certainly.... Certainly you can’t be serious?”

“I am. That’s the deal I’m offering - I’ll help you get rid of your little ‘problem’ if you’ll give me everything IAGO knows.”

“I... well, I’d make it happen if you can pull it off,” Novikov answered. “But how do I know you aren’t going to pull something?”

“You’ll know when he dies tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry about the wait! I expected to have this out much sooner but ya know.... shit happens xD Hopefully the extra long chapter makes up for it!


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